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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112242">i saw your face in a crowded place</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok'>the_ragnarok</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>harbours of my own [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Kink Party, M/M, Meet-Cute, Not Beta Read, jon sims and tim stoker are cuddle buddies, jon sims is a biromantic disaster, nonsexual kink, paddling mention</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:54:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,743</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112242</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin's not having a very good party until a drunk stranger asks to sit in his lap.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Sims/Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist &amp; Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>harbours of my own [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>546</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i saw your face in a crowded place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Do you have any snacks?" Martin yells, trying to be heard above the thumpy music of the night club. The woman at the bar, tattooed and pierced, is busy fielding other customers, and only throws a glance in his direction. Martin martials his courage and tries again. "Snacks? Chocolate bars?"</p><p>Miraculously, she does hear him; unfortunately, she shakes her head. "Just booze!" she yells in return, before going to pour some more of the aforementioned alcohol.</p><p>Martin walks away from the bar, disgruntled. Some kink party; too loud to negotiate anything with anyone, no snacks in the bar for aftercare and everyone getting drunk off their arses. He doesn't know why he even tries.</p><p>At least he managed to find a nice seat; but as he approaches it, he sees that silver lining is also gone. There's a man in his seat.</p><p>Martin resolves that this is his cue to go home. He wasn't having any luck finding play partners in this atmosphere anyway, and like hell is he going to stand awkwardly in a corner while other people dance and have fun around him. He's just about to leave when the man in his chair turns to look at him.</p><p>The man is certainly arresting; desi, with long, wavy, greying dark hair and extremely piercing eyes, which are now narrowed at Martin. "You were sitting here before," the man says, and stands up.</p><p>Martin flails. "No, no, it's fine! I wouldn't want you getting up on my behalf."</p><p>"But if you're not sitting down," the man says reasonably, "then I can't ask to sit in your lap." He straightens, and nearly falls down. It's hard to tell in the dim light, but Martin thinks the man's pupils are swallowing up the iris. He must have had a few drinks too many.</p><p>Which is a pity. He's very handsome, and Martin would have loved to see where this conversation is going, but with a drunk partner the answer is: nowhere. "You should probably sit down before you wind up falling on your face."</p><p>The man takes on a haughty expression. "I shall do no such thing." He takes a step forward and collapses like a defeated video-game skeleton. Martin catches him just in time, lowering him into the contested chair only to have the man springing out of it like an offended cat.</p><p>"It's your chair," the man insists.</p><p>"It's the party's chair, and it seems you need it more than I do." The man is not moved. In the interest of saving him from a concussion, Martin offers, "If I sit down, would you sit on me?" Surely a tiny bit of cuddling is excusable to do with a drunk partner, if they initiate it and are at risk of breaking their rather lovely face otherwise?</p><p>The man accepts this. As soon as Martin's sat, his lap is full of drunk stranger.</p><p>In desperate search for distraction, Martin scans the room. "Are you here with friends?"</p><p>This question is answered by another man walking into their space and proclaiming, "Oh my God, Jon, I can't leave you alone for a bloody minute!"</p><p>Martin tries to shrink away. This is hindered by the man in his lap - Jon - clinging to him like a limpet.</p><p>"I'm so sorry," the other man earnestly tells Martin. He's wearing a button-down unbuttoned to his navel, exposing an intimidatingly hot amount of muscle definition. "He's never like this." He pauses. "Actually, do you mind if I take a picture?"</p><p>"We're not supposed to take phones out inside the party," Martin says, faintly stunned.</p><p>"No pictures," Jon mutters, sulky. "Hate pictures."</p><p>"Nobody's going to believe me you sat in a stranger's lap in a party without photographical evidence!"</p><p>"That," Jon says, "is a you problem, and also the point." Martin giggles, on the edge of hysteria.</p><p>Jon's friend looks pained. "Please get up. I will take full responsibility for getting you drunk and make sure you get home, only please stop accosting this very nice man whose name I haven't caught yet."</p><p>"It's Martin," he says, blinking.</p><p>"There we go, Martin's a nice name, surely he's a nice bloke who doesn't need strangers hanging on to him at a club."</p><p>"I know his name," Jon points out, "and he knows mine. Ergo, not strangers." Jon's friend drags a hand down his face. "Beside," Jon continues unruffled, "he's cuddling me. You never cuddle me, Tim."</p><p>"Lies!" Tim cries. "Gross lies and slander. I swear on my honor that I will cuddle you as much as you want if you just get up and come home with me."</p><p>Jon squints at him. "You said not to trust men who offer to cuddle me if I go home with them."</p><p>Tim turns a pleading look on Martin. "Do you see what I have to deal with?"</p><p>While Martin is trying to come up with an answer to this, Jon tugs on his shirt collar. "Put your arms around me," he says. When Martin hesitates, Jon says, "I'm falling off." Martin hastens to comply.</p><p>From inside the confines of Martin's arms, Jon sticks out his tongue at Tim. Martin considers that he may have misstepped.</p><p>Furthermore, Jon shifts and suddenly there's a hand on Martin's side, just above his belt. Specifically, just above the carabiner hanging from his belt loop, where he's attached all his implements. "You have nice toys," Jon says. "Can I try the paddle?"</p><p>With this, Martin is on firmer ground. "No toys unless you're sober."</p><p>"Oh my God, he's pouting," Tim says under his breath. "I cannot fucking believe this."</p><p>"First I get no cuddles, now I have cuddles but no paddles. The world is a cruel and unjust place." Jon sags in Martin's arms.</p><p>An idea occurs to Martin. "You know, I was just trying to find something to eat," he says. "This place only has drinks."</p><p>"I like drinks," Jon says, flopped on top of Martin's lap.</p><p>"We know," Tim says with a sigh. "Sorry, Martin, I'm doing my best to extract you."</p><p>"Actually, I was thinking maybe you could join me." Martin shifts his grip so Jon doesn't fall down to the floor. "We could all do with a late night meal, don't you think?"</p>
<hr/><p>Jon wakes to familiar warmth and an assassination attempt. The latter is carried out by the sun, which is apparently determined to make his brains explode.</p><p>"Oh, God," he whines.</p><p>"Awake, are you?" Across the bed, Tim sounds distinctly unimpressed, and at the same time distinctly amused. Jon wonders how he pulls that off. Then he stops, because it's making his brain hurt.</p><p>That, however, is a mistake, because it leaves him wide open to memories of the night before. He groans. "Oh my God. Tim, tell me I didn't--"</p><p>"Accost a complete stranger and demand cuddles? 'Fraid you did."</p><p>Jon makes a pathetic sound. "Did I really try to sit in his lap at the kebab shop?"</p><p>"You did," Tim informs him.</p><p>Jon lets his head hang off the edge of the bed. "I am going to change my name and run away to Siberia."</p><p>"That," Tim says, "would be a pity. Who would provide me with hilarious drunken antics then?"</p><p>"Make your own drunken antics," Jon mutters sullenly.</p><p>"Ah, ah. Is that any way to talk to a man who was going to offer you breakfast?"</p><p>Jon considers. He flops his way across the bed like a lethargic caterpillar, until he's close enough to let his head fall on Tim's chest. Mm. Comfy. "Cuddles first," he mumbles. "Then food."</p><p>"You really need to rethink your priorities," Tim says, but he wraps his arms around Jon and Jon is quite certain his priorities are top notch.</p>
<hr/><p>The world looks better after breakfast. Especially since Tim graciously allows Jon more cuddles on the sofa. "But just a little bit," Tim says. "Then you have to call your beau."</p><p>Jon scrubs a hand down his face. "I suppose I do owe him an apology."</p><p>Tim makes a non-committal noise and hugs Jon. He's a good friend, even if he sometimes cruelly withholds cuddles in order to blackmail Jon to get out and drink his weight in alcohol.</p><p>After a short while, Tim gently pushes Jon away. "Go. Call." Jon has to copy the man's - Martin's - number from where Tim texted him to say that the two of them had made it home safe.</p><p>Martin answers on the second ring, sounding quite chipper. "Hello?"</p><p>"Hi." Jon swallows. "Uh, this is Jon. From last night."</p><p>"Jon!"</p><p>Jon blinks and looks at the phone, like it could somehow explain why Martin sounds so happy to see him.</p><p>"--so glad you called," Martin's saying when he brings the phone back to his ear. "How are you this morning? Feeling alright?"</p><p>"Fine," Jon says automatically, then grimaces. "Apart from the killer headache and everlasting mortification, I should say."</p><p>"I'm sorry." Even in the brutal light of sobriety, Martin's voice sounds warm and inviting. "I hope I didn't overstep."</p><p>"No, no," Jon hurries to say. "You were lovely. I just..." he bites his lip.</p><p>From the sofa, Tim yells, "Ask him out already!"</p><p>There is silence on the other end of the line. Then Martin says, slightly high-pitched and giggly, "What was that?"</p><p>Jon pinches the bridge of his nose. "That was Tim being insufferable," he says. Then he sighs. "Also, insufferably, he has a point. While I doubt I endeared myself much to you, would you like to meet me sometimes when I'm not drunk out of my mind? I hope I can acquit myself better."</p><p>"Oh, you're wrong about that," Martin says. Jon tenses. "You absolutely did endear yourself to me."</p><p>Jon huffs out a surprised laugh. "Really? You have terrible taste." He winces. Well, if he wanted to show Martin what a mistake it would be to date him, he surely succeeded. </p><p>Martin hums and says, "So. Are you free Friday?"</p><p>As it happens, Jon is. And just like that, he has a date. With a man who seemed content to cuddle Jon's drunk self on demand, and - if Jon recalls correctly - had some very intriguing toys. "That," he says, once Martin's hung up, "could certainly have gone worse."</p><p>"You're lucky you're adorable when you're drunk," Tim says. "And when you're scowling like this. Most of the time, really."</p><p>"I'll show you adorable," Jon mutters darkly, and returns to the sofa to demand further cuddles.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Will I write more of this? Who knows! I promise nothing.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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